LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 



? S £6^3 



i]^jt iiiM^t# l^J 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



POEMS 



POEMS 



JAMES RILEY 





%X^ 



Jl 



BOSTON 

CLEAVES, MACDONALD & CO. 
1886 






Copyright, 1886 
By JAMES RILEY 



To 
AMOS H. EATON 

PRINCIPAL OF THE EATON SCHOOL 

MIDDLEBOROUGH, MASS. 

IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED 
BY 

THE AUTHOR 



CONTENTS 

Page 

Fancy . 9 

Autumn Voices 11 

Morning at Mount Tom 14 

The Dollar . . - 17 

Kite-Flying 18 

Morning in June 21 

A Leaflet 23 

Pride 26 

Booth . ; 28 

The Miller in the Mill 29 

Despair 33 

The Brighter Side 35 

May 36 

Climbing up the Hill 37 

Harvest Moon 40 

Narragansett Bay 41 

November 43 

An April Day 46 

The Sea 48 

A Great City 49 

The Book of Youth • 52 



CONTENTS 

Page 
The First Day ...,,. 54 

The Mirror , , , 56 

The Hermitage • • • S9 

Henry Grattan . .62 

My Old Boat Painted Green 64 

The Heights of Quebec 66 

A Dew Drop 70 

The Voice of the Waves 72 

Irish America to Ireland 74 

Lake Winnepiseogee 77 

The Hosts of Ocean 79 

Eloise 80 

To A Friend 82 

A Wintry Day 83 

Our Little Mary 84 

■Grant's Grave 85 

Fannie Parnell 86 

Autumn . ^ . . -88 

Farewell to Canada 89 

James Berry Bensel . . 90 

The Life we Live . . 91 

To the Winds , . . .92 

A Night Scene ... 93 

Hazel Eyes 96 



FANCY. 

Smiwng Fancy, come with me ! 
We will sit by the greenwood tree ; 
I will liear what you will say. 
First, begin with green-leaved May, 
When the streamlet sings new songs - 
I/ate released from Winter's thongs — 
And the robin sounds his lay, 
Answered back by screech of jay, 
And beside the half-hid brink 
Sweetly sings the bobolink — 
From his weed it sounds so clear ! — 
While the blackbird down the mere 
Joyous flaps his red-marked wings 
As the chorus sweetly sings 
"May, May! 
Beautiful, beautiful May!" 



FANCY. 

Then we'll talk of fair-eyed June, 
When Dame Nature, all attune. 
Spreads her fragrant, flowery leas. 
As the music of the bees 
Through the long day fills the ear, 
And at eve we seem to hear 
The dewdrop fall upon the rose. 
As Titania softly goes — 
Guided by the tinkling rill. 
When the moon comes o'er the hill, 
I/ighted by the firefly's light. 
Warning her of water sprite — 
With her fays, to hear the croon 
Of the brooklet singing "June, 
June, June ! 
Beautiful, beautiful June ! " 



AUTUMN VOICES. 



AUTUMN VOICES. 

When tlie torrid summer's day 
Passes with its train away, 
Then another, brighter theme 
lyightens every hill and stream, 
And the old time pleasures breathe 
Glories upon autumn's wreath, 
Coming modulated low, 
lyike the river's ceaseless flow. 
Or the tinkling bell of herd. 
Or the wing of weary bird. 

From the far-off rabble rout 
Hear the merry schoolboy shout, 
And the lumbering of the load 
Winding down the country road. 
Hammer, sledge and threshing flail 
Break upon the drowsy dale. 
Far across the stubble plain. 
Shorn of all its bended grain, 
To the farmer's merry htmi 
See the toiling oxen come. 



AUTUMN VOICES. 

All the ripened corn's aglow, 
And the bluejay and the crow 
Sound the cry, "We never yield 
"While nngamered rests a field." 
Pumpkins, in their regal state. 
Piled up by the barnyard gate ; 
Drooping orchards propped to hold 
Apples red, and green, and gold ; 
Shellbarks falling without sound, 
Open secrets summer bound, 
Every squirrel, leafy hid, . 

Chatters from his branch "You did!' 

There are voices on the shore, 
Echoing down the vale before, 
lycd by Fancy's fairest child, 
Piping woodnotes soft and wild. 
Piping till the gods of mom 
Answer o'er the tasselled com, 
Following on with footsteps bold, 
Emptying Plenty's horn of gold, 
And the crickets loud and clear. 
Chirping down the meadows sear. 
And the song of harvest bee, 
Sounding down the radiant lea. 



AUTUMN VOICES. I3 

All the radiant fields ablaze, 
In the Indian-summer's days, 
I^ike the rainbow, promise themes 
Of the soul's bright earlier dreams ; 
While the sheaves that I^abor binds, 
And the horn the huntsman winds. 
And all praises of the air, 
That our earth can breathe in prayer. 
Sing the glorious magic time 
Wondrous to our Northern clime. 

In the night the cool winds blow. 

And the stars more brightly glow, 

And we watch the wheeling moon ; 

I/isten to the water's croon, 

And the wild owl's lone "Too-hoo," 

Kchoed by the elfin crew ; 

These are joys we e'er shall hold. 

Bound with Autumn's links of gold. 



.14 MOEINING ON MOUNT TOM. 



MORNING ON MOUNT TOM. 

I HAVB seen New England's valleys 

Blossom to the fragrant May; 
Stood upon her verdant hillsides, 

As declined the hour of day ; 
Seen her rivers, grand, majestic. 

Flowing on to meet the sea ; 
All her wondrous, cloud-capped mountains, 

Rising rugged, bold and free ; 

Watched Penobscot roll its waters 

Past Katahdin's snowy peak, 
Where the gloomy hemlock branches 

To the dark wave silent speak ; 
Where Monadnock meets the heavens, 

I have counted, one by one, 
Towers and towns upon the landscape, 

Resting in the setting sun ; 



MORNING ON MOUNT TOM. I5 

Seen tlie Merrimac go sweeping 

Past New Hampshire's granite hills, 
Flashing, staying, onward rushing, 

By her thirsting towns and mills. 
Till it met the waves of ocean 

Beating up the sanded shore. 
Where the broad, blue, belted harbor 

I^istens to the ocean's roar. 

But the beauty of all others 

Breathed its incense on that morn. 
When to Mount Tom's peak I clambered. 

And beheld new beauties born — 
Hills that stretched in links before me, 

Waters stretching far below, 
Creeping down between the mountains, 

I/DSt in Autumn's distant glow. 

Rich vales lying in the sunshine. 

Rolling plains and fertile lands. 
Tinted oak and birch and chestnut, 

Harvest fields and toiling bands. 
Brightly shone the river flowing, 

Winding down the valley fair. 
Winding on to meet the morning, 

Ivost at last in distant air. 



l6 MORNING ON MOUNT TOM. 

Down below the smoke ascending 

From eacli chimney's hazy fold 
Showed me where in molten glory 

Holyoke lay in burning gold. 
Towers rising, spires gleaming, 

Golden vanes that seemed to blaze, 
All the wealth Aladdin promised 

In youth's joyous, distant days. 

Westward then I turned my vision, 

Seemed it but a step to go, 
Where a thousand feet divided, 

To the wagon road below. 
I/ike an arrow led the roadway, 

Straight into Basthampton town, 
To the red mills of the village. 

And the river winding down. 

Rose the sun to meet the zenith. 

Past from earth the mists of morn, 
And I saw Northampton city 

Guarded by her fields of com. 
IfCt our broad land boast her glories, 

l/ct the old lands point to theirs, 
All the world shows not the grandeur 

That Mount Tom in morning wears. 



THE DOLLAR. 17 



THE DOLLAR. 

From the king on his throne, from the peasant who toils, 
From the lawyer who pleads in his choler, 

From the client who waits for his share in the spoils, 
Comes the cry of the crowd for the Dollar. 

As it ever has been so it ever shall be, 

While the heart to the head is a scholar, 

The Grindems and Grundy s by Nature's decree 
Shall worship the Almighty Dollar. 

A round bit of gold ! that is all ! yet I' m told 
That the world is built up by its glistening ! 

That the ching-a-ling-ling of this idol so old 
Brought the devil to stand at its christening. 



l8 KITE-FLYING. 



KITE-FI,YING. 

Little laughing youngster, 

Looking up in air, 
Lots of string unwinding, 

Lots of string to spare ; 
Airy elfins lurking 

In the bonnie blue 
Of your sparkling boy-eyes, 

Pure as fairy dew, — 

What a toy you have there, 

Soaring all the day 
Up to where the wild bird 

Goes to meet the' gray; 
Now 'tis in the sunlight. 

Now 'tis in the shade ; 
Give it line, my little lad, 

And don't you be afraid. 



KITE-FLYING. ig 

How it pulls and plunges, 

Shaking out its tail, 
Then away upon the breast 

Of the heaving gale, 
Up to where the white clouds 

Fleece to fleece unfold, 
Resting on the crimson, 

Near the shining gold ; 

There where towers toppling, 

Falling in the skies, 
Sails it o'er the snowy sheen, 

Soft as summer sighs, 
Past the ragged silver 

Letting in the blue. 
In far off, airy dreamland, 

Fading from the view. 

lyct the roving rambler 

Go to meet the sun, 
Stajdng till stars shine 

And the day is done. 
Let it wait till Night leaves 

Love to rosy Mom, 
Waiting till the gray dawn 

In the east is bom. 



KITE-FlrYING. 

Kite of magic motion, 

Boy of m.agic mind, 
Thinks the string unwinding 

Is a golden find. 
True, he never says so ; 

Silent is the voice, 
Until Fancy lends her wings. 

And shows her favored choice. 



MORNING IN JUNS. 



MORNING IN JUNE. 

The spider flings his network 

In patclies o'er tlie lawn, 
And one by one the stars go out, 

Before the rising dawn. 
The great green trees are sleeping 

OflF the lethargy of Night, 
And the charm of midnight greenwood 

Holds no more its fay and sprite. 

Sing, ye songsters by the river! 

Sing and sing from tree to tree ! 
Answer baqk, great blue domed Heaven, 

Mountain, meadow, hill and lea ! 

For the bride of day is coming ; 

Coming, fairer, sweeter, far. 
Than the moon of midnight beauty, 

Sailing o'er the fleecy bar. 



MORNING IN JUNE. 



Sailing up the blue depths ever, 
Sailing up, and on, and slow; 

Sailing as she sailed for ages 
O'er our little life below. 

Sing, ye songsters by the river ! 

Sing and sing from tree to tree ! 
Answer back, great blue-domed Heaven, 

Mountain, meadow, hill and lea ! 

Down the fragrant, dew-spread meadow. 

Out upon the blossomed thorn. 
Comes the song of Nature singing, 

Singing in the fair-eyed mom — 
"Where the revellers, new-throated, 

Sound reveille to the day; 
While the sky-lark, azure-winging, 

Answers back in wondrous lay. 

Sing, ye songsters by the river ! 

Sing and sing from tree to tree! 
Answer back, great blue-domed Heaven, 

Mountain, meadow, hill and lea! 



A LEAFLET. 23 



A I.BAFI.BT. 

I WATCHED a little leaflet 

Go floating down tlie tide — 

On the clear, bright, glassy water 
It seemed a thing of pride — 

Till it met the circling eddies 

Where the great rocks lay below, 

When it shivered as it vanished 
In the river's onward flow. 

Then I saw it reappearing 

On the smooth stream far away, 
In bright, buoyant life and beauty, 

And this it seemed to say: 

"I am sailing, sailing, sailing; 

And I fear no eddying tide, 
Though my sister leaflets miss me, 

And the zephyrs oft have sighed. 



24 A IvE;AI^I,Et'. 

I'm tlie little green-leaved treasure 
That was once the forest's own ; 

"Wlien I looked down on the river, 
From the tree where I had grown, 

Where, in calm, elysian sltmihers, 
Swung the golden robin low, 

From her silk-lined hanging castle 
Gently swaying to and fro, 

Dreaming of sweet orange blossoms, 
In a far-off sunny clime. 

With its birds of rarest beauty, 
I/Otus leaves and golden thyme. 

But alas, that life is ended ; 

I've met the biting blast. 
On the winds of fate I'm driven, 

Out upon the river cast." 

lyike this little fragile leaflet 

That went passing from my view, 

Are the hearts upon life's current 
That are ever kind and true. 

Sunniest hours have their shadows 
On the ever flowing stream. 



A i,e;afi,et. 25 



That is flowing on and onward 
With the music of I^ife's dream. 

And though trouble may betide them, 
And sorrow's winds be drear, 

Still they'll sail to life eternal. 

With true Christian faith and cheer. 

For the great world's ever changing; 

It is not a mimic play ! 
And though memory has its idols, 

Life is real every day. 



26 



PRIDE. 

Pride; carves in art the blazing lie 

Upon the marble's base, 
And dreams the letters chiselled there 

Time's hand shall ne'er efface; 
Yet all the portion power and place 

And pomp of pride may win, 
Can never shrive the guilty soul 

Throned on its secret sin. 

Pile up your gold, ye miser minds ! 

Round out your narrow sphere ! 
God gave to man a higher place 

Than ye are holding here — 
To build on others' honest toil, 

To smile or frown for gain ! 
Coin, coin your gold from broken hearts, — 

Bach blood-piece holds its stain ! 

Think you to buy great Heaven's throne 

With record of a knave. 
When Crime has graved your brazen brow 

And Mammon holds you slave? 



PRIDS. 27 



Ye may own the splendor of an hour, 
Ye may have your time and day, 

Ye may drink the draught that maddens, 
And play I^ife's little play ! 

Ye may dream, but dreams shall vanish ; 

You and yours be soon unknown ; 
And the gold for which your lives were sold 

Shall return you but a stone. 
Go, go to your forgotten graves ! 

The dust the cold blast sweeps 
Is all that's left above the ground 

When your proud spirit sleeps. 



BOOTH. 



BOOTH. 

Kings come and go, but Genius dwells 

Among the laurelled few 
Who roam for aye the haunted dells 

Where once the lotus grew. 

And on the beetling crag called Fame, 

The world below to scan, 
They write so all may read the name, 

"As high as this stood Man!" 

And now though England's bard low sleeps 

By Avon's winding way, 
The wizard's wand its charm still keeps 

While Booth remains to play. 



THS MII,I.:eR IN TH:e Mil,!,. 29 



THK MII,I,BR IN THE Mil,!,. 

In the lone and silent valley, 

Just beyond tlie distant liill 
Where the deep and winding river 

Rambles by the dear old mill, 
Oft in boyhood's merry moments 

I have loitered hours away, 
I/istening, as tonight I'm listening, 

To the miller old and gray. 

Where the mill now bent and broken, 

Answered to the miller's lays ; 
Answered to the hand that lifted 

Up the gate that now decays ; 
When the farmer homespun coated. 

Drove up with his grist of com ; 
And the miller in the doorway 

Met the sunshine of the mom. 



30 THE MII,I,ER IN the; Mil,!,. 

I hear the water in the wheel 

Go splashing loud and long, 
With the miller tightening up the stones, 

While singing some old song. 
I see him and I hear him, 

And I catch again the themes, 
That flowed as flowed the yellow meal 

From that good man in his dreams. 

I can see the hopper dancing, 

I can almost seem to feel 
The trembling of that crazy mill, 

With the whirring water wheel, 
And as the great wheel's turning 

I can see its buckets gleam, 
And from the open doorway 

Scan the bridge that spans the stream. 

There hang the iron steelyards, 

With their figured beam and poise, 
That weighed the com, the wheat, the rye. 

And all the village boys. 
And there the bags against the walls ; 

The high, old, oak settee ; 
The toll-chest, with the miller's toll, 

Which was the miller's fee. 



THS MII<IvE;r in TH^ Mllil,. 31 

By some 'twas said the drop tliat makes 

The mind forget its care 
Was hid within that rude old chest, 

Close by the cellar stair. 
But the miller's song is ended ! 

Death has calmed the troubled wave, 
And the April amaranth blossoms 

Sweetly o'er his lonely grave. 

And the birds he loved find answer 

In their chorus to the May, 
Answer till the evening shadows 

Gather up the beams of day ; 
Answer till the soul finds echo 

To the miller's joys and woes, 
With a song that goes to heaven 

Fragrant as Siloam's rose. 

And the children of that valley 

As they troop by in their glee, 
Are singing songs the miller sung 

Beneath the gilead tree. 
And like that river flowing 

Silver-throbbing on its way, 
Sorrow silently forgetting 

In another, distant day, 



32 THS MII/I^ER IN THS MILI,. 

Is the boy that knew the miller, 

Singing as that miller Simg, 
I^aughing as once laughed that miller 

To the shades that overhung, 
Painting now new hopes and pleasures 

From those scenes that come at will, 
The gold upon the valley, 

And the miller in the mill. 



d:^pair. 33 



DKSPAIR. 

Smile, Fortune, smile your fickle smile 
On otlier hearts than mine ! — 

I never was your favored child, — 
Drank not your poisoned wine. 

I do not know your pleasant ways, 
Your music, or your song ; 

For Fate gave me his bitter draught 
Of sorrow and of wrong. 

"What matters how the beggar's clad 
Who sings each sunny day ! 

The eagle from his mountain crag 
May watch his eaglets play. 

And flowers that deck the verdant mead 
May laughing greet the mom, 

While every ripple on the sea 
To silver sound is bom. 



34 D^PAIR, 



And all the forest leaves shall tell 
Their tale at Autumn's board 

Of sylvan grove and silent fell 

Where once the swallow soared. 

But I, unhappy, worn and sad, 
May weep my life away ; 

The falling tear the only friend 
I know from day to day. 



tke; brighte;r side. 35 



THB BRIGHTER SIDB. 

Gi,KAMS of sunshine are around us 
Could we only catch, their gold, 

There are gathered graces sleeping 
In the rose's gentle fold ; 

There is sunlight past the shadow 
Of the darkest, stormiest day, 

Where the beams of love are shining 
That shall drive the clouds away. 

There are hearts though hidden from us, — 
Full of sympathy and love ; 

Pure, unselfish, and as faithful 
As the stars that shine above. 

There are souls that never faltered 

Waiting for a fairer day. 
Though from past the heavy storm-clouds 

Ne'er have left one cheering ray. 

I<ove and Hope and Joy are waiting 

In that golden time to be, 
When the bark of I^ife goes sailing 

Out upon its silver sea. 



36 MAY. 



MAY. 

SoiT ope the roses on lier brow ! 

The lilies sweetly bloom, 
And earth and air and heaven now 

Drink deep the glad perfume. 

At noon along the mead that hems 
The flash of new woke streams, 

Hear bird and breeze sing to the gems 
That on her forehead gleams. 

The months in all their circling way, 

Behold no fairer scene 
Than blue-eyed, laughing, rosy May, 

The Season's beauteous queen. 



cwMBiNG UP the; hii<i,. n 



CLIMBING UP THB HII^I,. 

NeveIr look behind, boys, 

Up and on the way ! 
Time enough for that, boys, 

On some future day; 
Though the way be long, boys, 

Fight it with a will. 
Never stop to look behind 

While climbing up the hill. 

First, be sure you're right, boys 

Then with courage strong 
Strap your pack upon your back, 

And tug, tug along ; 
Better let the lag-lout 

Fill the lower bill. 
And strike the further stake-pole 

Higher up the hill. 



38 CWMBING UP THie HII,!,. 

Frowns make the better man ! 

lyet tliem sneer "the fool!" 
It is only for a day, boys ; 

I/ife is but a school. 
On the world's stage, boys, 

Which is very big, 
Do not be surprised, boys, 

If you meet a pig. 

Let them have their chuckle. 

Chuckle if they will, 
With a dirty hand-shake, 

When you've climbed the hill. 
Climbing up the hill, boys. 

Gentleman and clown, 
Some have stopped to rest, boys, 

Some are coming down. 

Bluster with its brag-mouth 

Claims every deal. 
But Silence in the long run 

Turns the biggest wheel. 
But when halfway up, boys, 

Don't you be "too smart;" 
Stop and lend a hand then 

To your neighbor's cart. 



CWMBING UP the; HII,!,. 39 

Trudge is a slow horse, 

Made to pull a load, 
But in tlie end will give tlie dust 

To racers on the road. 
When you're near the top, boys, 

Of the rugged way, 
Do not stop to blow your horn, 

But climb, climb away. 

Climbing up the hill, boys, 

Every ugly knock, 
If you can but stand the strain, 

Proves the better stock. 
When you're on the top, boys, 

I^ower down you'll hear, 
Coming from the common sort, 

Admiration's cheer. 

Shoot above the crowd, boys. 

Brace yourselves and go ! 
I^et the plodding land-pad 

Hoe the easy row; 
Success is at the top, boys, 

Waiting there until 
Brains, and pluck and self-respect 

Have mounted up the hill. 



40 HARVEST MOON. 



HARVEST MOON. 

A sii/UNCS reigns on all things now ; 

A gentle, peaceful scene 
Sleeps far below the pallid brow 

Of Autumn's evening queen. 

With stealthy steps, her pale, gray beams 
Creep through the tall elm's boughs, 

Away into the land of dreams, 
To pay their tribute vows. 

So calm, so still, so far, so cold, 
Deep, deep in soft, sweet skies; 

O favored, tranquil Night ! to hold 
So fair a form as prize. 



NARRAGANSBI^r BAY 41 



NARRAGANSKTT BAY. 

GivADis the singer's heart of song 
That hears your winsome tale, 

And merry were the days and long, 
When first I felt your gale. 

Since first upon my vision rose, 
Your white-crowned slopes a-lee 

"Where down the vale the Taunton flows, 
To meet thy waters free. 

When lyife was young, and Time was old. 

And raptures rich and rare 
Possessed my soul, I saw unfold 

Your cities proud and fair; 

The clouds that flecked your morning skies 

The flags that fluttered free. 
The boatman's call, the seabird's cries 

From Mount Hope to the sea; 



42 NARRAGANSB'TT BAY. 



All, all are clear today as then, 

That far-off April mom ! 
Though twenty years of tides and men 

Their shadows since have worn. 

goddess of a realm enshrined ! 

I feel once more the pride, 

1 rapturous felt when with the wind 

I sailed your waters wide. 

Your waves, your ships, your steamer's shriek, 

The broad fields far away, 
Your inland towns and valleys speak 

Their praises of that day. 

Heaven keep for aye the grand old shores. 
Where your blue waves float down. 

To where old Ocean chafes and roars, 
Past quaint old Newport town ! 



NOVEMBER. 43 



NOVEMBER. 



Whbn November's day is past, 
Charging down the hurrying blast, 
With his helm and spear and shield. 
Stem November drives a-field, 
And his train-band bugle's call 
Sweeps the forest's airy hall ; 
All his bannered hosts of air 
Charge across the meadows bare, 
Hurrying in their angered mood 
Over many a barren rood. 
Past the sere and shadowed dell, 
Ivonely save by clank of bell. 
Now the farmer o'er the plain 
Shouts unto his oxen twain ; 
And the lone crow on his perch, 
Of a bended, bearded birch. 
Caws and guards his sooty band, 
The pirate chieftains of the land. 
In the distance, lone and chill, 
Where the sheep-walk climbs the hill. 
And the silent, wind-swept wold. 
Shows the bare old oak-tree cold. 



44 NOVEMBISR. 



And tlie dark clouds droop their shade, 
And the brown quail flits the glade, 
From his swamp of woodland ground 
Comes the deep bay of the hound ; 
And the startled partridge brood 
Whirring break the solitude. 
Now the clear-cut "dee-dee-dee" 
Comes from snowbird on the tree; 
And the crows' deserted nest 
Hides the squirrels furry vest ; 
The late robin, flitting lone, 
All his redbreast brethren flown, 
Hears the bluejay's angered scream 
From his maple o'er the stream. 
Down the roadway of the skies, 
Coursing south, the wild-goose hies. 
To return when golden spring 
Brings to him a brighter wing ; 
And the sad-eyed April day 
Ushers in the sweet-voiced May. 
Glad December's Christmas bells, 
That the New Years' promise swells; 
February's icy store ; 
Angered March, with blustering roar; 



NOVEMBER. 45 



April, witli its stins and showers, 
May, with all its opening flowers ; 
June, with warm and sunnier sands, 
Clasping July's fair white hands ; 
August, binding Summer's sheaf, 
Mild September's falling leaf; 
Bright October's radiant crown, — 
All foretell November's frown. 
Where of late in gloiy brief. 
Came the song that binds the sheaf. 
Sad-voiced silent Nature sees. 
Scattered barren withered leas ; 
All her couriers, clad in gold, 
Have fled before the giant bold; 
Who, on cloud-capped steed of ire. 
Bom of heaven's own sacred fire, 
With his legioned lines now charge 
Down the cold black river's marge. 
He has fled from flelds afar, 
Right beneath the polar star. 
Where red Boreas' banners fly 
High upon old Winter's sky. 
And his red artillery's war 
Thunders down from I^abrador. 



46 AN APRII, DAY. 



AN APRII. DAY. 

Between the bluster and the bloom, 
The March wind and the May, 

To weep upon old Winter's tomb 
Comes April's changing day. 

As change the moods in woman's breast. 
From cold to summer wind. 

As beams in Fancy's light the west, 
Where beauty is enshrined. 

In sea of song and sunny vale, 
A long-drawn breath of sighs. 

Where ships that sail the eYening gale 
Ivcad on to Paradise, 

So through the April day is seen 
In sunshine and in showers. 

In changing light upon the green, 
In many colored flowers, 



AN APRIL DAY. 47 



In laugMer rising o'er tlie fell, 

In new-made forest leaves, 
In mountain, meadow, glade and dell, 

Where Nature smiles and grieves, 

Soft as the tender word that dwells 

In Beauty's breaking heart, 
When eye to eye an anguish tells 

What tears can ne'er impart. 

Like unto music on the air 

When day's long toil is o'er, 

When gold is on the maiden's hair, 
And song is on the shore. 

Is the sweet smile that Earth now wears, 

By early breezes fanned. 
As gladdened Spring her crown prepares 

To light with love the land, 

And gives to song the spotted hills. 
The marge its feathered cheer. 

While over all the new-waked rills 
Comes April's falling tear. 



48 TH^ SEA. 



Th^ great sea sends forth a moaning cry, 
Sounding up from the angered bay ; 

And the lone gull floats thro' a darkening sky, 
:Ere he swoops to his destined prey. 

And the green waves come with heaving breasts, 
To break where the surf-beat sand, 

Turns the billows back, with their foam-white crests, 
As they dash on the rock-ribbed land. 



A GREAT CITY. 49 



A GRKAT CITY. 

Aye ! read your classic volumes 
Of a dead and dreary past, 

In tongues of all the nations, 

Of crime, and creed, and caste. 

Drink deep of Wisdom's fountain ! 

Grade tlie mind ! let eveiy school 
With, cold machine precision 

Teach souls by square and rule. 

I would rather read the living ; 

Watch the soul-lit eye to find 
The passions, the ambitions 

That agitate mankind. 

In the city's pressing thousands, 
Restless as the Ocean's tide, 

I see the weeping widow 

And the blush of new-made bride. 



50 A gke;at city. 



The rich brocade of India 

Touclies there the tattered gown ; 
The cross is borne by I^azarus, 

And Dives wears the crown. 

I^ike those crowds the hours are passing, 
And the sand-glass counts them slow ; 

Men meet, they greet, they vanish, 
As the great crowds come and go. 

In the dawning of the morning. 
Ere the city throbs with life, 

I see as from a hilltop, 

The scene of coming strife. 

I see the smoke, slow rising. 

Straight and still, in calm, clear air, 
From homes where all are happy, 

And from houses of despair. 

And I think of the pains and pleasures 

The coming day may call. 
And the hopes and friendships ended 

Ere evening shadows fall. 

Of the crimes that there are covered ; — 
Gold may gild the darkest wrongs ; — 



A gre;at city. 51 



At tliat door Death's angel hovers, 
Here a maiden sings lier songs. 

In this world so changing, changing. 
Charge the soul with heavenly fire ! 

From each wrong the heart estranging, 
Mounting higher, higher, higher. 

Up, far up, a place is vacant ! 

See the entablature of fame ! 
See inscribed there names immortal ! 

Would you count with them your name ? 

On, then ! on then ! head the battle ! 

Men will follow when they know 
That before the cannons' rattle 

Beats a heart that fears no foe. 



52 THE BOOK OF YOUTH. 



THE BOOK OF YOUTH. 

I OPENED it long ago 

To read on its first bright page 
A dream of youth whicli none may know 

In the winter of old age. 
'Twas of golden bells in a golden time, 

With a golden hope to Ise ; 
'Twas a love that was love, a love that dwells 

From time to eternity. 
'Twas of glowing lights that never grow dim 

In the mists of the murky mom ; 
'Twas a maiden that s^ng and words that i^ng 

To the notes of a hunter's horn, 
'Twas a hope that stayed and a hope that went 

In a fancy o'er Life's sea, 
'Twas a ship that sailed where wild winds bent 

O'er a future fair for me. 



tun BOOK Olf YOUTH. 53 



'Twas of radiant days wlien autumnal haze 

Hung over the horizon's blue, 
'Twas a magical time in a magical land 

"Where magical roses grew. 
There was naught but song in the perfumed air ; 

And the whispering winds that blew 
From the hills afar to my soul seemed fair 

As the flowers that gaily grew 
Above the graves of the fallen braves 

That never a teardrop knew. 
Now time may come and time may go 

As summer winds follow the spring, 
But never again shall May-winds know 

The song the breezes sing. 
When youth all fair and debonair 

Soared high on her golden wing. 



54 TH^ FIRST DAY. 



THK FIRST DAY. 

When Phoebus first in Orient lands 
Flung out his glories far, 

Upon his radiant crown of light, 
God placed his morning star. 

Back flew the crimson gates of morn, 
Uprose the heavenly towers, 

And down to earth in rosy train 
There came the laughing Hours. 

The sea that erst with darkness wed, 
Now oped her waiting eyes, 

And with her yellow, floating hair, 
She touched the amber skies. 

A purple robe the river wore, 
And stately moved along, 

The fairest queen that ever rose 
At sound of matin song. 



THS FIRST DAY. 55 

The sun tiprose, and darkness sped; 

Bach Season heard his call ; 
Glad Summer with her skies and streams. 

And "Winter with his pall ; 

The green Spring with her grassy meads, 
When new-bom Nature grieves ; 

Fair Autumn, with her golden bowers, 
Her fruits and new-made sheaves ; 

Each beauteous Season waiting there, 

To send a blessing far, 
When heaven should give to bless the world 

Sun, moon, and shining star. 



56 TH^ MIRROR. 



THE MIRROR. 

I CEASED to row my little boat, 
And floated on the tide, 

Which in its depths reflected 
The Autumn in its pride. 

I saw the yellow grape-leaves, 
On the alders bending low ; 

And peeping out in clusters, 
The ripened fruit did show. 

The faded trailing ivy 

Hung round the forest oak ; 
Beside the crimson maple 

And the sumac's brilliant cloak. 

And I saw each lazy cloudlet, 

I/)oking shaggy, soft and white, 

From out a sky of azure — 

Where the silver sun shone bright; 



THE MIRROR. 57 



Till my oar-blade dipped the water, 
Wlien soft the scene was swayed, 

To vanish as the west wind 
Along the waters played ; 

Making bright red water-berries 
On the river's rippled sheen 

For a moment dance then vanish 
On boughs of fadeless green. 

I saw the weary blackbird, 

Coursing where the south wind blows, 
With trains of sailing swallows, 

Telling tales of coming snows. 

And I knew this brilliant picture, 

Of radiant golden light, 
Was the hectic flush of Nature, 

Which foretold her coming night. 

Showing I/ife a passing shadow, 
And the fairest face must fade, 

When wrinkled Time low-bending. 
Demands his tribute paid. 



58 THE MIRROR. 



Aye ! tliere's more than gold may glitter ! 

Oft the smile but hides the tear, 
When all lyife's hopes are blasted, 

And our hearts like leaves are seie. 



THE HSRMITAGie. 59 



THE HERMITAGB. 

" The Hermitage," so called from an estate in Ireland, lies about one mile 
west of the city of Fredericton, the capital of New Brunswick. It was first 
ceded by the English Government to Isaac Hedden, Esq., in 1788. It became 
the property of Thomas Baillie, the Surveyor General of the Province in 1825. 
Here his young wife, an Irish lady of great beauty, died, and Baillie, whose am- 
bition it had been to outdo His Excellency, the Governor, in tlie splendor of 
his ceremonial and the gorgeousness of his equipage, returned to England a 
bankrupt. It has long been the property of the Catholic parish of Fredericton, 
and Father McDevitt, the present parish priest of Fredericton, occupied it for 
years, and held service in one of its spacious parlors. Once the home of hap- 
piness, it is now a deserted, crumbling ruin. 

The slumberous mom has risen to meet 

The song that's on the brae, 
And fast and far new glories greet 

The long, glad summer day. 

The robin tells anew his tale, 

His love-mate to adore, 
Along the wave the favored gale 

Blows from the St. John shore. 

Blows where the ravaged hand of Age, 
With wrinkled brow and sere, 

Hath watched full long the Hermitage, 
That soon shall disappear. 



6o THS HBRMITAGK. 



The feet that trod its old oak floor, 

The eyes that once so rare 
Oped Hospitality's broad door, 

Are dust upon the air. 

The rising moon shall never seal 

Those lips of long ago< 
No more her pale gray beams shall steal 

On music soft and low. 

Bom in a land more fair, to die 

Upon our wild west shore. 
Long may New Brunswick's breezes sigh 

For her that is no more. 

Here passed the glories of a day, 
With all its pageant train ; 

And here a reverent priest did pray 
To Him of Judah's plain ; 

And here the child of primal sin. 
The bridegroom and the bride. 

The penitent a Heaven to win, 
Received the Sanctified. 

Still on the river throbs and flows, 
And still the thistle pales. 



THK HERMITAGE. 6l 



Where once tlie vesper liymn arose 
At sound of evening's gales. 

But when the moaning hemlock swells 

Its dirges on the blast, 
A tender thought in fancy dwells 

On days that long have past. 



62 H:eNRY GRATTAN. 



H^NRY GRATTAN. 

From a soul inspired with loftiest tliouglxt, 

With words of fiery glow, 
Came Grattan's speech for Irish rights, 

One hundred years ago. 
Around him flashed the bayonets, 

And glinted in the sheen 
The muskets of the volunteers, 

Those days on College Green. 

In language rich with imagery 
Of rhythmic thought and fire. 

Was the sacred flame enkindled, 
That never shall expire. 

Grattan found his land in ruin, 

Drooping, lifeless, limp and cold ; 

But it warmed beneath his genius, 

And uprose the green and gold. 



HBNRY GRATTAN. 63 

Thougli the Parliament lie fotinded 

Was doomed to quick decay, 
Thougli its members sold their birtliriglit, 

And received their paltry pay; 
Though the thraldom of our country 

The Saxon's gold procured, 
And the sun of Ireland's morning, 

In darkness was obscured, — 

Still her sons are ever freemen ! 

"We are not a race of slaves!" 
This is told on every scaffold 

That has filled that land with graves. 
And in every nation's senate. 

On the field or in the mart, 
Comes the glad Cead Mille Failthe 

From the generous Irish heart. 

Aided by her exiled children, 

She'll redeem the patriot's vow. 
And the aureole of glory 

Shall illumine Erin's brow ; 
While the words her Grattan uttered. 

When her gifted sons he fired, 
Shall ring through all the nations 

By his burning lips inspired. 



64 MY OLD BOAT PAINTED GREEIN. 



MY OI,D BOAT PAINTED GRKKN. 

I dre;am once more 

Of the days of yore, 
And of many a sylvan scene, 

Wlien the greatest fun 

Was a rod and gun. 
And my old boat painted green. 

'Neath a maple shade 
It swung and swayed, 

Flat-bottomed, long and lean ; 
And the rusty chain — 
How t'would slack and strain 

On my old boat painted green ! 

Along the tide 

I would softly glide. 
And fish the banks between ; 

When pickerel whirled 

T'was joy of the world. 
In my old boat painted green ! 



MY OLD BOAT PAINTED GREEN. 65 



I knew each spot 

Wliere perch were caught, 
And the muskrat's nests were seen, 

Heard bullfrogs croak, 

From logs of oak. 
At my old boat painted green. 

When the sun shone bright, 

'Twas my delight, 
To row o'er the glinting sheen, 

Past the lilies' bloom. 

With their sweet perfume, 
In my old boat painted green. 

But all things pass, 

And so, alas ! 
My boating days I've seen ; 

For a witless wight, 

One wet cold night. 
Stole my old boat painted green. 



66 l^HD HEIGHTS OF QUEBEC. 



THK HEIGHTS OF QUKBKC. 

Where the heaving proud Saint Lawrence 

Rolls from northern inland seas, 
Bearing on its wondrous waters, 

Flags that catch the morning's breeze ; 
On Quebec's old ramparts standing. 

Where the powers of Albion hold, 
On that cannoned, crag-crowned casement, 

Watch above bright towers of gold, 

I beheld the ancient city. 

Guarded, moated, fortified. 
With the August sunlight streaming 

Over town and tower and tide. 
Flags were waving, ships were sailing, 

White clouds lying on the blue. 
While in dim and hazy distance 

Orleans rose upon the view ; 



THE HEIGHTS OF QUEBEC. ^^ 

Rose beside that world-famed passage 

Where the ships of England sailed 
On that dark autumnal evening, 

With their flags at masthead nailed ; 
Sailing with the fate of empire 

Centred on the wild wave's chance, 
Sailing with the shot that buried 

The gold lilies of old France. 

Bathed in all the softening splendor 

Of a rare and radiant scene. 
Stretching down the eastern heavens, 

On beyond the river's sheen, 
Rising, rising, spire and turret, 

Flag and fort and convent gray, 
Glittering in the morning sunshine, 

In its dream Point Levis lay. 

Proudly o'er her fortress floating. 

Over moat and bastioned wall, 
Waved the flag that long has listened 

To old England's bugle call. 
At my feet the lettered granite, 

Carved in characters of flame. 
Showed to men the deeds that cluster 

Round a Wolfe and Montcalm's fame. 



THE HEJIGHTS Olf 2UE;bEC. 

And I reverenced the honor 

Of the union blended there, 
With that simple shaft uprising 

Radiant in the morning air. 
But I felt one stone was wanting ! 

Yea ! I felt a tinge of shame, 
That my people and my country, 

Had forgot Montgomery's name ! 

That the flag the hero honored. 

Floating o'er an empire free. 
With its millions had forgotten 

Him who died for liberty. 
* ' Here Montgomery fell ! ' ' the letters 

Carved upon an uncouth board 
Showed me where that winter morning 

He had fallen with plume and sword. 

Raise a shaft to heaven, Columbia ! 

In remembrance of the brave I 
Let it look down on the waters 

That he tried for us to save ! 
Let the glow of Ireland's sunburst, 

And our Union's starry folds. 
Weave a chaplet crown of glory 

By the fort the Briton holds. 



THie HE;iGHTS Olf QUEBEIC. 69 

I,et the hopes that here were buried, 

And the stars that here were furled, 
With a century's sheen bright added, 

Carve a tablet for the world ! 
Say '"Twas here that Freedom faltered, 

When that spirit winged its flight 
To the land of the Immortal, 

As it battled for the Right." 

Where embattled hosts have wavered, 

There, with Victory's crown between, 
Let the Shamrock, and the Kagle 

Meet the morning's blessed sheen. 
Let it rise to meet the heavens ! 

Where a Wolfe and Montcalm fell ! 
Till the blue Laurentian mountains. 

And the eve and matin bell 

Say "God rest thee!" grandest hero, 

That our Revolution gave, 
We will not forget thy death-spot 

As we've not forgot thy grave. 



70 A DEWDROP. 



A DKWDROP. 

A TEAR from the eyes of night, 

When met by the sunlight's gleam, 

Is changed to a diamond bright, 

More rich than an Kastern dream. 

With colors the rainbow gives, 

Glitter of silver and gold, 
See, the beautiful dewdrop lives, 

In regal splendor untold. 

It clings to the oak-tree's leaf, 
And kisses the opening rose, 

And during its life so brief, 

The meadow its glory shows. 

As each grass-blade bending low. 
With a crystal upon its breast, 

Recieves new vigor and glow, 
In morning glory dressed. 



A DEWDROP. 71 



On the spiders silver skein, 

Glitter cups of tlie nectar sweet, 

Fit for a fairy's lip I ween, 

In some greenwood's calm retreat. 

But this glittering shining gem, 
Fears the warm advancing day ; 

And the gorgeous diadem 

Fades from the earth away. 



72 TH^ VOICS OP TH]S WAVES. 



THE VOICE OF THE WAVES. 

WiE have come ! we have come ! the m^ad waves shout ; 

We have come to the iron crags ! 
O'er the houndless breadth of the mighty deep 

We have com.e with a million flags. 

Past the line of the sea-washed guarders, 

On, over the sands below, 
To the giant feet of the rock-ribbed hills, 

Sweeping on with a wild ho-ho ! 

Though the skies be dim and the heavens be dark, 

And cloud upon cloud rides fast, 
The trampling tread of our snow-white steeds 

Is thundering on the blast ! 

The white ship sinks before us, 

And the red stm seeks his home, 
And the maddened seabird sends his shriek 

On the billowy bounding foam. 



TKB VOICED O:^ "Tim WAVES. 73 



And far in the sinking twilight, 

The throned kings of the air, 
Fling out upon the wild west wind, 

Their greetings of despair ! 

And from the troubled sky of night 
The moon and the stars look down. 

To watch the march of the onward host, 
Who fight for the sea-god's crown. 

Where the surges swoop and the wind sweeps on, 

And seas upon seas uprise, 
High, high above on the crested deep, 

We'll march toward the morning skies ! 



74 IRISH-AMERICA TO IIUSI/AND. 



IRISH-AMERICA TO IRBI.AND. 

In fair Columbia's valleys, 

Where majestic rivers flow, 
On her seas of swelling prairies. 

By lier mountains crowned with, snow, 
In her vineland, and her pineland. 

And her cities by the sea, 
Now the Celtic bands are leaguing 

That their native land be free. 

Though we've crossed the Atlantic's billows, 

Bade our native land farewell, 
Still we love thee, Mother Erin, 

Bvery mountain, mead and dell. 
Still we see the gray old chapel, 

And the cot upon the hill. 
Seem to hear a mother's blessing. 

Voiced from lips long cold and still. 



irish-ame;rica to irdi^and. 75 

Wlien tlie ne'er forgotten parting 

Brouglit the exile bitter grief; 
And we left our cliildren starving, 

With the ripened corn in sheaf. 
Now we see the restless sea-waves 

Bearing off the winnowed grain 
In the ships of [England's commerce 

For the landlord's golden gain ; 

And the charity of nations 

Brings bread to Ireland's shores, 
While the wolf is slowly crawling 

On and in ten thousand doors. 
Hark ! the tramp of England's minions, 

Crushing down the voice of woe ; 
The thousands in their grandeur 

O'er the millions down below. 

Darker grow the avenging heavens ! 

Deeper now the tyrant's ire ! 
See, the troubled waves of passion 

Ivighted by the lightning's fire ! 
But above the angered waters 

Reigns a God, who, just and free 
Counts the sparrows in their falling, 

And the sand-grains of the sea ; 



76 IRISH-AMi^RICA TO IR^I,AND. 



Who measures out a nation's life 

By its virtues or its sin. 
O Bngland, see tiie crown of hate 

Your heritage doth win ! 
As we send the word to Erin, 

Irishmen from home-land driven ; 
We will not forget thee, Mother ! 

Thy wrongs we've not forgiven ! 

And we'll help you, yes, will help you 
With our purse, and voice, and prayer, 

We will follow where you lead us. 
And plant our standard there ! 



ivAKB wiNNBPis^eoGse. ^^ 



I.AKB WINNBPISKOGKB. 

I've heard of the Switzer's mountains, 
That rise in their heights sublime, 

To guard the hearts of a people free 
As the air of their own proud clime. 

Of the grand old Danube river. 

That sweeps round its islands fair, 

Till the glow of the morning gladdens 
The wave that is resting there. 

Of old Scotia's hills and highlands, 
Of that land where soft and sweet 

In the vale of blest Avoca, 
Fair Ireland's waters meet. 

But here in our own loved country. 
On the breast of New England lies 

A lake of as fair a grandeur, 

As rests beneath Europe's skies. 



78 IvAKE WINNEIPISEOGES. 



Where the blue-waved Winnepiseogee, 
In the grace of a scene that's rare, 

Beholds the brow of New Hampshire, 
Rise high in its grandeur there. 

With the morning sunlight resting, 

Upon its wooded bays, 
Its towns and mountain ranges. 

Its isles that forever praise 

Those skies that shall never darken 
The smile the Great Spirit gave*, 

When he traced for his simple children 
The shores of this tranquil wave. 



*Winnepiseogee, in the Indian language, means the smile ot the Great Spirit 



THK HOSTS Olf OCBAN. 79 



THE HOSTS OF OCEAN. 

Roar, ocean ! roar and tlitmder 

And smite the beetling crag ! 
Throw out your thundering columns ! 

Fling high your battle flag ! 

On, on ye grand old warriors ! 

On, plumed chieftains ! on ! 
I/et your steeds advance and bright shields glance 

In the light of the morning sun ! 

Ho ! ho ! for that emblem flying ! 

Dash on to the ragged height ! 
A tear for the dead and dying 

That have charged in the grand old fight. 

Crash ! crash in mad despairing, 

The strength of your giant forms ! 

There's enough, enough on the onward march ; 
The curse of the gathered storms. 

Where the cloud on the sea is lying, 

And the gull swoops low to the foam, 

They cry — the snow-white armies, 
' ' We come, we come, we come ! ' ' 



8o ^i.oiSE. 



KI.OISB. 

I AM sad and lonely now, 

And my dream of life is o'er, 
lyike an oak-tree of tlie forest lone and bare ; 

All my friends have gone before, 

To the ever sbining sbore, 
And the snows of fourscore years are on my bair. 

All alone I often gaze, 

At evening's silent hour. 
On the pale moon rising slowly o'er the trees. 

Then comes the long ago. 

And the friends I used to know. 
And the angel of my soul, sweet Eloise. 

'Twas an eve in leafy June, 

When comes the sweet perfume 
Of the roses and the lilacs on the breeze, 

And my fancy paints the glen 

With its trysting tree again. 
Where I won the heart of dark-eyed Bloise. 



8i 



There, picturing tte future, 

With no thoughts of coming woe, 
I sailed my bark of I^ife o'er sunlit seas ; 

While the brooklet's ceaseless flow, 

Babbling o'er the rocks below. 
Seemed to lull the heart of my fond Kloise. 

With dreams of gurgling fountains, 

And streamlets silver sheen, 
Where zephyrs came to answer song of bees, 

Breathing softly on the ear. 

Music sweet for love to hear. 
To the gently throbbing heart of Eloise. 

Those hours were so happy, 

I see them through my tears, 
B'en the thought of them oft gives my poor heart ease 

And I long to sit alone, 

On the old moss-covered stone, 
Where I gave my heart to my fond Kloise, 

She faded like the leaflet, 

In the autumn of the year. 
And my heart has drunk of sorrow's cup the lees ; 

And I pray to be above, 

With the dear one that I love. 
The angel of my soul, sweet Kloise, 



82 TO A FRIEND. 



TO A FRIEND. 

LINES SENT WITH A SPRIG OF WILLOW TO A FRIEND FROM 
GRAND PRE, NOVA SCOTIA. 

To the broad city's mart witli its litirrying throng. 

To a friend wiioni I prize far away, 
To a heart; that is true to the passion of song, 

Goes this emblem of love from Grand Prd. 

Goes as sweet as the Angelus bell that did ring 

To Acadia's echoing air, 
When gentle Evangeline sweetly did sing, 

To Father Felician's prayer. 



A WINTRY DAY. 83 



A WINTRY DAY. 

Thk forest sank to slumber, 

The voice of the day grew still ; 

It died along the meadow, 
It died beside the hill ; 

It died on the river sleeping, 

Where radiant sunbeams threw 

Their gleams of rainbow gladness 
To form the ice-tree's hue. 

It died in the great old ocean, 
Where lone the island lay, 

Dreaming, sadly dreaming. 
The centuries away 

It died on the deep blue heavens, 
That gazed on the wasted wild 

Of silent, shrouded Nature, 
Tranquil and reconciled. 

It died on the long gray hillside. 
It died on bank and brae ; 

Pallid and cold, the wild wild wold. 
In the light of a winter day. 



84 OUR I.ITTI.E; MARY. 



OUR I,ITTI,B MARY. 

Dropped from the sunny summer skies, 

With all their azure blue, 
Our little Mary's soft bright eyes, 

Like them are pure and true. 

They laugh away our every care, 
They turn our souls aglow. 

The beams of sunshine resting there. 
Make earth a heaven below. 

Our household pet ! our joy and bliss ! 

A parent's earnest prayer 
Goes out in every fervent kiss 

Pressed on your lips so fair! 



GRANT'S GRAVE. 85 



GRANT'S GRAVE. 

By tlie shores of tlie noblest stream that sweeps 
To the New World's waiting- wave, 

Our proud imperial city keeps 

Its watch o'er the hero's grave. 

And the ships that bend to the morning breeze, 

Return to our own free shores. 
To see no banner upon the seas 

Like the one that above him soars. 

And the hills that once a greeting hymned 
To this child of the unknown West, 

Receives again with its sheen undimmed, 
The sword that is laid at rest. 

O guard your priceless, treasured shrine, 

Great city beside the sea ! 
Ten times five million hearts consign 

His sacred dust to thee. 



86 FANNY PARN^IyL. 



J'ANNY PARNKIvI.. 



DIED JULY 19, 1882. 

Ths heart tliat gave heroic verse 
Fresh sparks from freedom's fire, 

That did poor Erin's wrongs rehearse 
"With all a soul's desire, 

Has faded from our earthly gaze, 

Quick-fled forevermore, 
Brief were her songs in freedom's praise, 

And then the task was o'er. 

Clear-sparkling as the mountain streams 
That flow to Ireland's strand 

The soul-life of her patriot themes 
Has roused that drooping land. 

As meteor from starry blue 
Bright bums to pass away, 



w 



FANNY PARNEI/I,. 87 



Or song-bird wet witli morning dew 
Proclaims the coming day, 

'Twas so slie flashed to disappear ; 

Her songs no more we'll hail, 
But freedom oft will shed a tear 

For the flower of Avondale. 



AUTUMN. 

Now Ceres roams her laden leas, 
And sounds her golden horn, 

And answer back tlie harvest bees, 
And laugh of tasseled com. 

Along the crisp-made garnered fields 

Her footsteps softly stray, 
To where the oak-tree droops and shields 

The river on its way. 

Over the red and yellow leaves 

By the light of the silvery mom, 

I/ight she glides to her bearded sheaves, 
By berry bush and thorn, 

And hills are lost in purple haze, 

And trees are talking low 
About the mellow Autumn days 

And Nature's afterglow. 



]PARBWEI,I. TO CANADA. 89 



FARBWBI.I. TO CANADA. 

FarewelIv to the broad streams that sparkle and flow 

By thy valleys surpassingly fair, 
Where the juniper sleeps in its mirror below, 

With its great tasseled plume in the air ! 

Farewell to the song of the waves on thy strand. 
To the green-spreading groves that inlay 

The gold that rests long on thy intervale land, 
Where the Saint John sweeps on to the day. 

Farewell to the haze on thy blue-mantled hills. 
To the sail that bends low to thy gales, 

Where I^iberty lives and her precept instils. 
Though the flag of the Briton ' she hails ! 



90 JAMES BERRY BENSEI*. 



JAMES BERRY BENSEI.. 

DIED FEBRUARY 2, 1886. 

A TRAVEi<i.ER falling on the world's bleak way, 

By sorrow-clouds o'ercast ! 
A clear-voiced singer, singing for a day, 

From out the boundless Vast. 

A watcher waiting for the promised noon, 

To bring its meed of praise ; 
The gathered garlands of a richer June, 

With their bright rosy bays. 

With eager pen and brain the poet sought 

A place among earth's great. 
But at the last they, slowly ripening, brought 

A fame that came too late. 

Peace to his ashes ! He has left behind 

What genius only brings. 
The aspirations of a noble mind 

That sorrows while it sings. 



THE WI^E) WE WVE. 91 



THB I/IFB WB IvIVB. 

The life we live is a breeze that blows ; 

Or like a changing tune ; 
Or the shade that creeps on the gold that glows 

Of a day that is past too soon. 

'Tis a weary march with feet that bleed ; 

To a goal that is wrapped from view ; 
'Tis the folded scroll that God shall read - 

When he tells of the deeds men do. 

It has no tongue for the lips so dumb 
Which have felt but the bitter cold, 

Of the great round world that knows no sum, 
But the power that is ranked with gold. 



92 TO THE wmDS. 



TO THE WINDS. 

Come to me, come to me, winds that are fair, 

Ariel, come with your band ! 
Blow ! blow ! blow away care, 

In a song to the summer-time land ! 

Ever, oh ! ever, oh ! ever so free ; 

Linger and, laugh to the May! 
Then to the roses that bloom on the lea, 

Trip light over all and away. 

Soft as the sigh of seasons that go, 
Bringing their pleasure and pain. 

Turning the mountains of sunny-bright snow 
To rivers that flash on the plain. 



A NIGHT SCI;NE. 93 



A NIGHT SCENE. 

Last night from my window gazing, 

I watclied each silvery star, 
Till the great red moon came rising 

O'er the harbor's distant bar. 
First a faint light, slow appearing, 

It grew as the moments passed, 
Till in all its pride and glory, 

Rose the full round moon at last. 

And then in her purer silver. 

The Queen of the azure way, 
Passed on 'neath moving cloud-scenes, 

Soft-flecked with their fleecy gray. 
The sea, each star reflecting. 

Seemed a nearer heaven below, 
And beyond lay the golden moonshine, 

Dim in the distant glow. 



94 A NIGHT SCENE. 

Where out on the tidal ripplings, 

Moving lazily on her way, 
I saw a ship in the distance, 

Sail out of the tranquil bay, 
With all her sails receiving 

The breeze from the land so free, 
Bearing men with proud hearts grieving, 

Away o'er the moonlit sea. 

Far off to the deep sea soundings, 

The ebbing wave with the breeze, 
Proud, staunch and true seemed ship and crew. 

Bounding on o'er heaving seas. 
And watching her slow recedmg, 

I/ike a shadowy form of air. 
Away on the heaving billows, 

I thought of the time and where, — 

I sailed a fancied vessel, 

On the Future's billowy wave, 
Aud saw as I sailed before me, 

The course of the true and brave. 
But I counted not the shallows. 

When winds o'er the waves hoarse roar. 
Driving the poor bark broken. 

On misfortune's rock-bound shore. 



A NIGHT SCENE. 95 

The Queen that was last night rising 

High to her vaulted throne, 
With starry gleams around her, 

Ended her course alone; 
In the gray, dull West she faded — 

Dethroned — disgraced — away 
From where in her queenly splendor 

She reigned with a magic sway. 



96 HAzei, EYES. 



HAZKI. BYES. 

Two little hazel eyes 

Five years ago 
First saw this strange land 

Where the roses grow. 

lyaughing, liquid, bright eyes, 

Fairer than day ; 
Vying with the silver stars, 

Radiant as May. 

Dimpled are the clasped hands, 
Falls the flowing hair, 

Kneeling by the bedside, 
At her evening prayer. 

Every morning early, 

Standing on the stair. 

Fresh as freshest May-dawn 
Stands my cherub there. 



HAZEI, EYES. 97 

Patter, patter, sound the feet 

On the kitchen floor — 
Wttle chubby "Chin-chin" 

Standing at the door. 

Fair as the river's gleam 

In the breezy mom, 
Soft as footsteps of the wind 

On the tasseled corn ; 

I/ike the gold unfolding 

On the leafy throng, 
When from every spray-branch 

Comes the soul of song ; 

Gladdest of the glad joys 

Song has ever told, 
Beams the love in Maud's eyes — 

Just five years old ! 



